


Virtues Uncounted

by could-be-calliope (206265)



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Gen, It's about the awkward burgeoning affection, The inherent tenderness of being the party's healer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-09
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23081785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/206265/pseuds/could-be-calliope
Summary: Sasha wakes up with a scar she doesn't remember getting, laying in blood she doesn't remember losing.(Set on the airship as the party travels to Prague.)
Relationships: Sasha Rackett & Zolf Smith
Comments: 3
Kudos: 49





	Virtues Uncounted

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm worried about Sasha and suspect Zolf might be too. Ben and Lydia did this bit really well but I know an opportunity for angst when I see one.
> 
> I didn't use any of the archive warnings because I don't feel they apply, but let's just say that this deals with the aftermath of the Sasha's time with Mr Ceiling, so... yeah. Detailed warnings in end notes.
> 
> Title from Hozier's Shrike.

Sasha doesn't look scared.

Sure, she looks deeply uncomfortable, but this is an expression she wears often enough, so it's no reason to worry. Or at least, not much. Because Sasha looks– alright, incredibly uncomfortable and perhaps nervous, and Hamid and Amelia have filed out of the room and she isn't leaving. Instead, Sasha is standing at an angle, as is her fashion, and isn't quite looking at Zolf as she sidles closer.

"Erm, I was thinking, maybe, that you could do your magic stuff on me."

Zolf raises an eyebrow and hopes he won't have to ask what for. Sasha's hands are in her pockets, which is strange enough, and she keeps on wearing that odd expression.

"I've got this... Well, uh, it's this thing and I was hoping you could take a look, 'cause I've got this scar, right, and I don't know why."

"A scar?" Zolf can't help but look her over, once, as if he'd be able to see through the oversized layers of leather she always wears. Her face screwing up, Sasha's shoulders begin to rise. "When did this happen?"

"I don't know," she says, a tinge of frustration colouring her tone, and her youth stands out more than it usually does. "I mean, I woke up this morning and there was blood, all over my hammock, and this scar was on me, and I don't know where it came from."

Here, her hand slips out of her pocket and traces a rough 'Y' shape on her torso. The memory slams into Zolf; his team laid on tables, Sasha's organs plucked out and hung in awful contraptions. Zolf had never asked the thing they called 'Mr. Ceiling' if the disemboweling was necessary for Sasha's resurrection, or if it had just been for some sick approximation of fun, but he doesn't particularly care now. It is the violation of it that haunts him, as he recalls putting her back together in the most horrifyingly literal sense.

"You know autopsy cuts? Does it look like that?"

"I mean, yeah." Sasha grimaces, and her shoulders creep even further upward. "Think it's from when I, erm, well I was dead, wasn't I?" 

"Probably, yeah." Zolf scowls as he thinks of needing to revisit their time with Mr. Ceiling. Some things are best left behind, and left behind as soon as possible. "Want me to take a look?" 

"I s'pose," Sasha forces out after a beat. Then she turns on her heel and begins marching toward the door. Zolf follows a pace behind, trying very hard not to notice how stiffly she is moving.

The walk to Sasha's room feels longer than it should, by the time on Zolf's pocket watch. But when Sasha shoves the door open with more force than necessary, stalking to the centre of the room and freezing there, he wishes that he were still back in that hallway, where he could delay whatever is about to happen. Contrary to popular belief, Zolf is painfully aware that his bedside manner leaves much to be desired. And so, he knows that it means something for Sasha to even ask him for this.

"So, blood on the hammock?" Zolf prompts as he locks the door to afford them a bit of privacy.

"Yeah, uh, just woke up and it was everywhere. Not very comfortable."

And indeed, Zolf can see the dark brown of dried blood saturating the tan linen of the hammock. Not a worrying amount, for all that it looks alarming.

"Feeling the blood loss much?"

"Not really," Sasha shakes her head slightly. "And it doesn't hurt much. Freaky, though."

"I thought as much." Zolf takes his time looking over the hammock, though there wasn't much to see. He has his back to Sasha, something he hopes might help. "Let me take a look at it?"

Sasha goes very quiet behind him, then takes a slow, shuddering breath. Then the rustling of leather, and a dull thump. Zolf turns back around.

Sasha is small. Not short and dense, like he is, but scrawny in the manner of a person who grew up with too little food. She looks far more fragile without her ever-present, oversized coat to bulk out her frame. Zolf, as their group's designated healer, knows this, has seen this before, but it worries him every time. And she's so _young_.

He has lived a long time, has walked many paths and sailed many seas. He has been hurt enough that such pain would break a lesser dwarf and shatter a mere human like her. He knows that the injuries and death are an expected hazard of their chosen career. But seeing Sasha, stood there in her thin grey tunic, with her hands twitching nervously at her sides, Zolf can't help but feel that she's seen far too much for her meagre years. Twenty-two, she'd mentioned once. Barely beyond youth.

"Gotta see, don't you," Sasha mumbles, and wriggles out of the tunic too. She tosses it aside and stands, trying to look impassive, in the middle of the room. She isn't particularly successful.

The sun streaming in through the porthole seems to pale as the awful scar sits proud on Sasha's skin. It traces just below her collarbones in flawless symmetry, then meets in the centre to begin its downward path, vanishing briefly beneath the fabric binding her chest, only to re-emerge below and track downward to her navel. It looks as red and angry as when Zolf finished healing it the first time, and something clenches in his stomach.

"You'll have to sit down," Zolf says as gently as he can manage, gesturing to the low bench on the other side of the room. Even hunched and petite, Sasha towers at least a head over him. Sasha sits. "Mind if I touch?"

"Guess so," Sasha says, flatly as anything. Still, she jumps when Zolf shrugs into some kind of professionalism and presses a careful finger to one end of the scar, where it sits on her right shoulder. The skin there is warped and slightly overheated, but otherwise doesn't reek of any foul magics. Zolf breathes a sigh of relief and begins gathering himself for a plea to Poseidon.

_Greetings, my lord, it's Zolf again; Zolf Smith. I know it's been a bit since my last sacrifice, but I swear I'll get a good one after this. Please, it's for Sasha. Let me help, let me heal. Let me know what's wrong with her so that I may make it better. Let me–_

"I might have scurvy," Sasha's voice cuts through his thoughts, entirely unprompted as she stares blankly out the window. "It does this to scars, and the like."

"You have one symptom of scurvy," Zolf corrects somewhat absentmindedly as he peers at the newly-inflamed scar tissue. Half a prayer should be enough, intent should matter most to a god, anyway. He'll do some excellent drownings as soon as he can get his ridiculous watery legs back safely on the Earth.

"Because I've seen scurvy enough times in Other London, and peoples' scars show up just like this, it's mad–"

"Why aren't your teeth falling out, then?" Zolf retorts, finishing up with one hand span of scar and moving on to the next. "Where's the bloody gums?"

"I haven't got bloody gums," Sasha says, sounding almost petulant.

"Then you don't have scurvy. My money's on something magic. Don't know what yet."

"Oh. Alright, then." Sasha hesitates, and her gaze skitters over Zolf before darting away. "So, is it gonna kill me?"

"What? 'Course not." Zolf tries to force as much reassurance into his tone as possible. He doesn't need Sasha panicking now, they already have enough to deal with when Hamid frets. 

"Well, then, what's wrong with me?"

"Be quiet a moment, and I'll find it out," Zolf snaps, and Sasha manages to meet his eyes for a second before closing her own. He wants to say something more, something better, but finding out what's wrong is more important right now. Still, Zolf gentles his touch in apology as he focuses on the quiet stream of power trickling through the back of his mind. After a long moment, it presents an answer.

"So I've got good news and I've got bad news. Which d'you want first?"

"I don't really believe in good news," Sasha tells him somewhat sullenly, and leans back just enough to tell him that she's done with being examined. Zolf takes the hint and pulls away.

"Well, most people like to hear one and then the other–" Sasha snorts her disapproval, and Zolf almost smiles. "The bad news is that I can't cure it completely. I don't know how, I'm not enough of a specialist."

"So I'm dying."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic. The good news is I can keep it at bay, stop it from getting any worse. I'll have to do regular healings, but it should be fine."

"Oh. Thanks, then."

"Need my team functioning, right?" Zolf attempts a smile, but the expression feels clumsy. "I can check again tomorrow, if that's fine."

"Yeah, we can, we can do that."

A weak smile forms on Sasha's face and it makes Zolf's effort feel worthwhile. They wait in silence a moment longer. 

"Right," Zolf says, allowing his voice to rise and backing off a pace. "Guess I'll just–"

"Thanks, Zolf," Sasha interrupts, and her eyes are fixed somewhere on the bare wall of the cabin. Her shoulders are still slumped and her scar, now white and faded, is far too familiar. Maybe this is why Zolf steps back in.

"Glad to help," Zolf says quietly, and places a hand on Sasha's thin shoulder. She twitches at first, but settles when he squeezes gently. He very carefully does not think about the sight of Sasha's still body, inside out and so cold in those catacombs. Instead, Zolf stretches out an arm to snatch Sasha's tunic off the floor and pass it to her.

After a second, she stands abruptly and turns away as she pulls her tunic over her head. Deeming it polite, Zolf averts his gaze. Then the squeak of leather, and when he looks back, Sasha is once again wearing her coat. She looks like she wants nothing more than to flee, but she's holding herself back.

"Thank you," Sasha repeats, and shifts her weight nervously from one leg to the other. Then she bends down quickly and throws an arm around Zolf, only for a moment, before pulling away. She fumbles with the lock on the door, gets it open, and slips out the door like a particularly well-oiled collection of ball bearings.

"Not a worry," Zolf says under his breath, and follows her out into the ship.

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-fic events which are mentioned here:  
> Sasha was dead when she was first found by Mr. Ceiling, and was then resurrected. While in Mr. Ceiling's lab, Sasha had her internal organs removed and held nearby. Upon waking, Zolf used magic to heal Sasha and replace her organs.
> 
> In this fic:  
> Sasha's autopsy scar re-opens and bleeds, which is not described in detail.


End file.
